


Dressing the Left Hand

by Nebulad



Series: Sataareth [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Post-Trespasser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7772725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yellow,” he said after a moment of thought. “It’s a happy colour, like sunshine.”</p><p>“An appropriate accent colour,” she said, more to herself than him. “It is the Sunburst Throne, after all, <i>something</i> should identify you as allied to me should you attend any official events.”</p><p>“Your robes were yellow at your first ball,” he said, and she gave him a look. </p><p>“They were.” It was not the worst thing for him to read out loud, so she let it slide. “The Duchess of Churneau tried to wear yellow a day later and it clashed so terribly with her hair that she didn’t leave her estate for weeks afterwards.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dressing the Left Hand

Cole as the Left Hand was interesting, to say the least. Vivienne lived up to her promise of dressing him like a _proper young man and not a sad ghost,_ although the going was painfully slow. He was longer in the leg than most people knew what to do with, and proportioned strangely in the arm. It was as if no tailor in Orlais had ever had to deal with someone so pallid (although knowing the people she did, Vivienne knew it couldn’t be true).

“A subtle way of discovering who _you_ are, dear,” she’d told him, straightening his shirt. They were in Val Foret— far from the capital for her tastes, but she’d rather avoid going to Ferelden to dress the boy. Certainly they’d know what to do with a greyer complexion, but she’d not have the Left Hand in _fur._ “Dressing like _you_ rather than the poor boy who died in the Spire.”

“I don’t know _how_ to dress like me,” he’d told her, although he’d been much more cooperative during the whole process than he’d been during Halamshiral. Perhaps her promise to avoid masks for him had helped— he still seemed confused by them, their purpose. She no longer wore one, as the Divine, though she couldn’t help but mourn the wasted collection she possessed. Perhaps someone suitable would come along that she could pass them to, but she would meet the Maker before she’d hand them over to anyone in the court _now._

 _Have a soiree, invite the Circle, see who’s there,_ she thought, but shoved it out of her head. Something for later, when she could focus on more than one issue. Something for further down the line, where it wouldn’t look like she was favouring the Circles after all the problems that Tamassran had only _just_ put to bed.

“We can begin simply. Are you fond of a colour?” The tailors scurried around at her every word, which was fascinating to Cole. They were so afraid to make her angry, and yet there was so little they could do to raise her ire. She trusted them with their jobs, but they were afraid of her because of hers.

“Yellow,” he said after a moment of thought. “It’s a happy colour, like sunshine.”

“An appropriate accent colour,” she said, more to herself than him. “It _is_ the Sunburst Throne, after all, _something_ should identify you as allied to me should you attend any official events.”

“Your robes were yellow at your first ball,” he said, and she gave him a _look._

“They were.” It was not the worst thing for him to read out loud, so she let it slide. “The Duchess of Churneau tried to wear yellow a day later and it clashed so terribly with her hair that she didn’t leave her estate for weeks afterwards.” And good riddance. She was always a nasty woman, nastier now that she couldn’t tell tales about Vivienne without _someone_ being offended at her flagrant disrespect for the Divine.

“Late at night but feels like sunshine, the candles and the glow off of golden trim and glimmering marble, why can’t the Circle look like this, why is the tower so drab, there are more windows in a single wall here than in the entire—” He stopped, suddenly, looking sheepish, and Vivienne rolled her eyes. The sad thing was that she was pleased. He was getting better, as this was the first time in _weeks_ that he’d gotten carried away and said something personal out loud. He’d even managed to stop himself.

“Certainly you remember what the inside of a Tower looks like,” she said.

“I don’t need Cole’s memories for that,” he reminded her. “But you’re right. They’re very dark.”

“Windows,” she told him. “A few windows would do everyone a world of good, but like everything else, someone has to ruin it for everyone.” She wondered briefly, as she often did, what the Circles of Rivain were like. Certainly there were windows, but… she wasn’t sure if she would allow a spirit to possess her for the luxury of watching the sunset. Maybe if they hadn’t been in Ostwick when her magic made itself known, she would have been.

 _Maybe a lot of things,_ she told herself firmly, looking back at Cole. He didn’t say anything, thankfully. “Perhaps some white as well, for this suit,” she said, hopefully changing the subject blatantly enough that he caught on. Another thing they would have to work on— unless he was actively looking inside someone’s head, subtext was entirely lost on him. “A small homage to our Inquisition.”

“Tama wears white,” Cole said.

“Indeed dear, hence the homage,” she said distractly. The Inquisitor was known for her many white outfits, and while Vivienne might have called someone with a colour palette that never changed tacky, Tamassran made it work. Whites, pastels, and draping designs no matter the material— it suited her well and she worked hard to prevent it from becoming stale.

“Feeling too big, too full, dressed so prettily but still get called a knuckle dragging oxman. Worked so hard and its all falling apart— but Vivienne is looking and she looks so proud, tilts her head up, remember not to bow yours. The lady who lost her ring is speaking slowly as if you can’t understand, reply so quickly that she’s lost for words, doesn’t realise you’ve slighted her until your back is already turned, don’t look back. Vivienne hides a laugh behind a fan, feel better, brighter.”

Oh. _Tamassran._ Maker, she _had_ been proud. Tama had studied with a diligence that bordered on desperation, spent hours with the Bull and Cole practicing steps that she didn’t know, stayed so perfectly still while the cosmeticians got her ready for the night. Vivienne couldn’t have _been_ prouder, especially when she’d denounced Florianne for the fool she was in front of the entire court. She would have bottled that moment if she could— what a _debut._

“I believe that’s something you should keep to yourself, dear,” Vivienne told him, turning to look at hats (he _insisted_ on them and it had to be done eventually— she was simply putting it off).

“I know, but you helped. You made her confident.” Vivienne smiled down at the silver hennin (Maker another thing she’d given up) on the table, tracing the delicate metalwork across the brim.

“And what of you, darling? How do _you_ feel?” she asked, turning and ushering him towards the full body mirror. He started a little, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that he would have a reflection. He turned, this way and that and examining the suit he had on. It wasn’t perfect yet by any means, but it would be. She couldn’t have her Left Hand dressing like he’d only just shambled out of the Fallow Mire.

“I think I like it,” he said, sounding more surprised that he felt any sort of way about it. She beamed— proudly, because she was proud of him too the silly spirit-boy— and patted his shoulders.

“We’re only getting started, Cole.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay well I got mad about Vivienne and Cole again and I felt really bad that last time there was a bunch of emotional exposition on Vivienne without her being present to react to it, so here we are. I'm atoning in the form of Cole learning how to form preferences and Vivienne remembering how she got to the Sunburst Throne without a single mention of the Duke of Ghislain. [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com), a party you're all invited to. Also soiree should be soirée but here we are anyway.


End file.
